The Hunger Games Files: Season One
by Chandlor
Summary: In the first season of The Hunger Games Files, young and fresh tributes are reaped into the 100th Hunger Games which means, yes, it is a Quarter Quell. Competing against 24 other tributes for the gateway to freedom, they must survive through hostile arenas the Gamemakers maliciously created until one lone Victor remains. Whose favor will the odds be in? Read to find out!
1. Pilot

**PILOT EPISODE**

_The Gamemakers' Room, The Capitol; 4 months prior to the Games_

"You're one mad Head Gamemaker, Gregory Pike," President Snow implied with an amused laugh, the devious grin showing visible wrinkles and crow's feet on the corners of his eyes.

"What can I say; I have a creative mind, Mr. President."

"The intricate details you've plotted down and not to mention the surprisingly new twist is perfect for this Quarter Quell. And the astonishing idea of putting in levels into the Games? Remarkable."

"You're making me blush, Mr. President," Pike chuckled.

"I look forward to seeing your work coming into play, Mr. Pike. If you are able to pull this off, then consider yourself booked for the next five years as Head Gamemaker."

"Thank you, sir. That's an absolutely generous offer."

"Seize it; I don't make offers like this very often," President Snow stated.

The rest of the Game makers sat on their metal stools and continued working on the arenas for this year's one-hundredth anniversary of the Hunger Games. President Snow and Pike stood on the balcony that overlooked the circular room. Who would've thought that just a bunch of workers, a sick mind, and a powerful ruler could come up and bring about such an extravagant yet sinister plot for the Games.

Pike combed his amber locks back upon his head. "Yes, I will happily accept your offer, President Snow." Pike sounded intimidated by Snow's demand to snatch the offer before he changes his mind, but then again when was the President not intimidating? Besides, this could be his only shot to have a future career and he didn't want to pass that up.

"Excellent." President Snow spun on his heel and held the steel railing as he walked down the stairs, shrugging his suit jacket on and adjusted his white rose as we walked out of the room without another word to Gregory Pike.

Pike exhaled a shaky breath before turning to his colleagues. "Alright everyone, we have a lot of work to do. There are twelve arenas that we need to conjure up and we can't afford to waste anymore time. Let's get started."

**Author's Notes**

Please read and review! This is not a SYOT fic, but if you'd like, you can send in random names for the other tributes that are going to be in the arena as I've only written down the main ones. You may be lucky! Hope you guys liked this short episode.

**Side Notes for before moving on:**

There are a few things that I'm going to alter for this story to work. 1: President Snow is 75 in this story even though it's known that he was born when the first Games commenced; Katniss and Peeta were allowed to live in peace after their little stunt so long as they continue to love each other; the 2nd rebellion never happened.


	2. Episode One

**EPISODE ONE**

_4 Months later…_

In the middle class sector of the District 6, a heated conversation between a twenty-four-year-old morphling junkie and his mother sparked in the Embers household.

"For the last time, mother, he's not going to be reaped!"

Tears filled Mrs. Embers' eyes as the thought of her youngest son getting reaped into the Hunger Games. It was already enough she almost lost her oldest son; she's not prepared to go through that again. "You don't know that! What if it's different this year? His name has been entered more times than ever."

"It has been six years, and nothing has ever happened to him!"

Mrs. Embers couldn't tell if Chastace was about to cry. You can't really tell anymore if your son has been on morphling for a while. No matter how many times she's tried to convince her son to stop doing it, the morphling always called him back.

"You heard President Snow announce the Quell on television, how this year's Games are going to be. If Conrad gets reaped into this, what are the chances of him being able to get out?"

Both of them heard footsteps coming down from upstairs, the heavy boots stomping against the hardwood stairs without intentionally trying to be that loud. A younger teenage boy stood at the bottom of the stairs as he looked at his mother and older brother.

"Will you guys stop fighting? You're going to get us reported for disturbing the peace," Conrad scolded.

"Conrad," his mother called as she walked over to her precious little boy, "let me look at you."

Her hands stroked his biceps in a calming manner, knowing that Conrad must've been nervous about having to go into another Reaping. She carefully studied his clothing and removed any sight of hair, lint, or speck of dust and fixed any visible wrinkle. Conrad groaned in annoyance.

"Mom, I'm not twelve anymore," he said with a slight blush of embarrassment. He took her hands and grasped it as he gazed into her eyes. "And don't worry; I'm going to be fine just like I always am."

"Don't worry?" Against she felt salty water forming in her eyes. "Of course I'm worried. Each year, the odds of your name being pulled into the Games become more and more likely…"

She turned away; her words got caught in her throat, and she was glad they did because she didn't want to even finish that sentence. Knowing her son might be another victim to the cruelness of the Capitol's custody sent shivers down her spine. She tried to stay strong, but she just had a feeling.

Conrad dusted his charcoal gray button-up shirt and used a lint roller to clean up the little remnants of lint off his khaki pants. The khaki colored boots complimented his light skin tone along with his hazel eyes. Vivian took another glance at him for good measure.

"You look just like your father," she smiled weakly.

Behind her, Chastace rolled his eyes as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. "You tell that to all of us, mother."

"Yeah well, him more than you," she jokingly replied with a smirk.

Conrad let out a chuckle as he let go of his mother's hands. He went into the kitchen to fetch a glass of sparkling clean water. He handed her the glass. "Don't be nervous; I'll be just fine."

Conrad lied; he didn't feel fine. He knew that his name would be at a high number in the reaping bowls this year. He cursed in his mind for ever applying for tesserae when he was fourteen. But he had to; his family was low on food and it was the time when his father was laid off his job for a while due to an explosion in the factories.

The digital clock in living room sounded and blinked the time, _2:00pm_. Conrad let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in, and his mother's expression of dread waved back onto her. She tried to give Conrad a hopeful expression the best she could give him before the three of them stepped out and headed for the town square where they would convene with Mr. Embers.

The children of the district rallied according to their gender and age after processing their blood for sign-ins. Conrad stood at the very end opposite of the middle isle along with the other eighteen-year-olds. A gust of wind blew into the town square, and his brown spiky hair brushed against each other in the wind. He watched as the Capitol seal spun around in a proud manner on the live screen overlooking the square.

His family stood close by him behind the line of Peacekeepers who held plasma guns in their hands, a new invention and upgrade no thanks to District Two.

On the screen, the Panem anthem sounded and the television broadcast from the previous night announcing this year's Quell. The Capitol audience cheered as the President came into view on the podium, watching him wave at them before the anthem subsided.

"_For one hundred years, the Hunger Games has been able to keep the order of our glorious nation. For one hundred years, not a single spark has been ignited since the First Rebellion. Today, my people, we celebrate one hundred years of the Hunger Games with a fresh, original Quell."_ The audience applauded for a moment as President Snow took out another envelope from the box that contained each rule of the Quarter Quells and opened it to snatch out the papyrus card.

"_And so, as a celebratory reminder that The Hunger Games will forever be a test of honor, strength, valor, and courage, each district will offer up two of their strongest tributes who will compete in twelve hostile tasks in a survival of the fittest."_

The Capitol audience cheered once again as it echoed throughout the town square before the President waves away as he stepped down the podium and disappeared back into the building.

That was the thing that Conrad was worried about. Knowing that he was one of the more athletic boys in school, he figured that people would enter his name on the ballots. But he tried to be confident and hope that it wasn't him. Maybe it would be Jack Trimera, the school bully who looked like a giant.

The mayor along with the district's political powers along with Petunia Evermay stepped out onto the stage. Petunia was a vivacious figure, a similar personality to Capitol-renown Effie Trinket, who saw Effie as an idol to her and wanted to be just like her. Her lopsided grin showed her pearly whites as she stepped to the microphone and greeted the town square.

"Welcome, everyone, welcome. As you all have heard, this year is a Quarter Quell!" She clapped her hands in hopes that the audience below her would follow her suit, but prevailed before going back to speaking. "As follows, the district has taken a ballot of who the strongest contestants will be to participate in this year's 100th Annual Hunger Games."

The Mayor stood holding a box in his hands and presented it opened to Petunia. She took out one of the two faced down cards, the top being the girl tribute, and the bottom being the boy. She puffed her rosy red wig that resembled something Marie Antoinette would wear before she opened the card and stood in front of the microphone.

"The female tribute of District Six," she glanced down at the card as she recited the name, "Jocelyn Heatherton!"

A huge wave of girly and relieved sighs came from the other side of the town square as the girls turned towards the line where the seventeen-year-olds were standing. The girl stepped out of the line in a slow and frightened manner, the same expression was on her face like Conrad's mother as she stepped up to the front of the Justice Building.

Petunia turned again towards the box and snatched the other faced down card containing the boy tribute. "Thank you very much, Mr. Mayor."

The Mayor nodded before he sent himself back to his seat, setting the box on the ground right next to him. Petunia turned her attention to the boys' side as she did with the girls and held out the card. Conrad's heartbeat was racing; his palms were sweaty as he unclenched his fists as he stared up at Petunia. Some of the boys glanced at each other as the anticipation of them not being chosen hung in the air.

"The male tribute of District Six-"

_It's probably Jack,_ he told himself as a comforting thought. _He's more likely to survive than the rest of us._

"-that will represent the district in this year's Hunger Games-"

_Or it could be Preston Wheeler, the captain of the archery team._ Conrad let out a calm breath as more names popped into his mind that was probably more likely to get picked into the Games.

"-Conrad Embers!"

His pupils dilated as the whole row faced their attention towards Conrad, the air feeling even thicker than it was before. He felt his breath shaking as he looked at his mother. She began to sob in Chastace's chest.

"Conrad, where are you?" Petunia asked in an excited tone.

He slowly maneuvered through the crowd of teenage boys before he was out of the crowd and walking up onto the stage. He gave a glance at Jocelyn; the name sounded familiar. Then it hit him. It was the girl that beat him in the rope climb in gym. Her climbing skills were remarkable, which meant that her arms must've been pretty strong.

Both tributes stood aside Petunia as she grabbed their hands and thrust them into the air. "District 6, I give you your finest tributes! Happy Hunger Games, and May the odds be ever in your favor."

She escorted them into the building with that perky grin on her face and the doors sealed shut.

An hour later, Chastace came barging into the room to say their last goodbyes. He shut the door and told Conrad to sit down. Still in shock, he stood at the window and stared down into the town square where some Peacekeepers were cleaning up.

"Conrad," Chaz (that's what Conrad always called him) called to him, "I promise you. I'm gonna get you out of that tournament."

It was a baffling statement to hear it from a morphling junkie. Conrad chuckled at the thought of his brother trying to give him advice while inserting morphling through a needle. "How in the world would you help me? You're always on morphling and most of time you don't even respond to me, mom, _or_ dad."

"Listen to me; I have been off of morphling for a week, okay?"

Conrad blinked. "You're joking."

"I've been managing it; it's not easy. Hell, it's pretty hard. But I'm managing. Anyway, that's not the point. I'm a mentor; I can get you out of there."

He dribbled the thought around in his mind. Chastace was a pretty powerful tribute in his year of the Games eight years ago. Being the athlete of the family, he trained himself to survive in the arena and killing anyone who got in his way.

_Killing_. The word and thought of it made Conrad scoff. Killing people for money and fame? Sounds more like infamy if you really think about it. Conrad would never kill another living soul.

"Con?"

Conrad turned from the glass window and glared at his brother. "And what about Jocelyn? She needs a mentor, too. You can't always be helping me, Chaz. She has a family to get back to as well."

"You're my little brother, Conrad."

"That's not my point! I'm eighteen years old. I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Well then act like an adult and take my advice if you want to get out of there alive. I'll be able to help Jocelyn, too! But I'm more focused on you. Understand me?"

The doors burst open and two Peacekeepers rings their arms around Chaz, pulling the resisting adult out of the room. "I'm gonna get you outta there, little bro! I promise!"

When it was his parents' turn, all his mother could do was sob into her husband's chest. Vivian was never a strong person when it came to situations like this and now that one of her sons is a victim of the Games, she couldn't bare it.

She embraced Conrad into her arms and gave him a sincere and motherly hug, which made Conrad hug her ever tighter.

"I believe in you, my son," she whispered into his ear.

"Thank you, mom." His voice was shaky and a bit hoarse as he tried to hold back the tears. His father joined in before they were escorted out of the room, leaving Conrad all alone. And he was going to be alone for a long while.


	3. Episode Two

**EPISODE TWO**

CONRAD

When the Peacekeepers came into the Justice Building, Conrad knew he was a goner. They escorted him along with Jocelyn and Petunia into the charcoal gray carriage and fled the town square. The car ride to the train was silent, more silent than the town square during Reaping Day, except for Petunia who was humming the Panem anthem as she powdered her face to an abnormal glowing white.

The cameras surrounding the path to the train and Conrad kept his head down to hide his face. He never liked attention, and when was spoken at the microphone, he felt incredibly awkward and embarrassed (which was shrouded by dread and worry of course.) Conrad and Jocelyn walked the stairs that led into the steel train and was welcomed by a small corridor.

The door of the train sealed and another one opened, leading them into a banquet parlor room filled with scrumptious smelling sweets, oak furniture outlined and intricately detailed in gold, and red satin curtains draping the windows that showed what was left of District Six. Conrad took a kneel on the seat that bordered the window and looked out to District Six with sorrow.

He didn't know if he was ever coming back here. His daily routine never consisted of getting reaped into the Games, so you can imagine that Fate decided to take his life into an entirely new course with a long chain of events that are yet to come.

As the train began moving, Conrad felt anxious. Obviously he had never been to any other place besides District Six. When the view of the district began to diminish into the distance as the train was welcomed by acres and acres of tall spruce trees and condescending oaks.

"Well," Petunia clapped her hands in an excited fashion, "I'll let you two get settled." Her sentence tone pitched at the end. "I'm going to go and get Chastace-"

"Is there some place where I can be alone?" Jocelyn asked, though it wasn't so much of a question as it sounded more of a demand.

Petunia took a second to respond. "Well… yes, deary. Your bedroom is on the end of the train." Her faulty grin faded as she exited the room.

Jocelyn gave Conrad an unsure ad cautious glance, as if she wasn't sure how to approach the teen boy. Her interest wavered to finding her bedroom at the other end of the train, leaving Conrad alone to stare into the distance of the unknown lands of Panem.

In a room filled with goods that had the sweet-smelling aroma nipping at your nose, Conrad didn't feel a least bit hungry. The reaping took away his appetite and he's sure that a freshly baked croissant wasn't going to help his darkening mood. Chaz came into the parlor half an hour after their departure, though Conrad didn't bother to notice. His mind was too wrapped up around the thought of how he was going to win this thing. Chaz promised to help him, but being the altruistic person he is, he thought it would be unfair to Jocelyn about the advantage of having a victor and a mentor for a brother. Though, Conrad didn't feel lucky. She probably forgot that he's on morphling, or, was on morphling until recently.

Chaz took a seat at the window next to Conrad. "How're you holding up?"

Conrad let out a deep sigh. "Shaken up; scared," he shrugged at the word. He wanted to hide his nervousness and dread but hey, anyone would feel the same if they were given a sentence to a televised death.

"That's how I'd expect you to feel," Chaz replied blatantly.

Conrad narrowed his eyes but his voice faltered for a few moments. He thought about his parents, especially his broken-up mother whose children were both being transported to the Capitol as they speak. "Mom didn't make saying goodbye any easier."

Chaz hung his head in despair. "Yeah…she never does."

"I just can't believe she has to go through this again." Conrad leaned his chin onto his forearm as he set it against the windowsill, the sun already setting its course towards the horizon.

"Dad's there to hold her hand through this. I told her to stay strong, for you."

The corridor door slid open and Petunia came back in, as if she thought her smile would lighten up the mood in this joint. She gave them a waving gesture over to the table to have something to eat.

"Take it all in, my darling," she gracefully waved her hands around her, "the wonderful décor, the delectable food, the pleasant atmosphere; oh, you're going to _love_ the Capitol."

As Petunia continued her overly exaggerating speech about how wonderful the life of the Capitol is, Conrad exchanged an annoyed look with his older brother, and the feeling was entirely mutual. The teen didn't seem to be that interested in his lamb stew; he could only stomach a few sips of it before he lost his appetite again from Petunia's complimentary remarks about President Snow's mansion and how glorious the Capitol looked from a chopper.

As the sun set on the horizon, the three retired into their respectful bedrooms where they locked themselves in for the rest of the night. Even though the train didn't even move an inch as they travelled over 200 miles per hour, Conrad still had trouble sleeping. He had to stop thinking of the negative and start focusing on his strong suits that could help in the levels of the Games.

He tried to give himself credit for taking gym for two semesters. The rope climbing, weight lifting, and running paid off from the looks of his slightly herculean form. Even though his muscles didn't bulge out like a body builder, he was still considered masculine and fit. Hopefully his strength could assist him in anything they're going to throw at him.

He gave himself into the night and his eyelids draped his eyes and sent him into a deep slumber.

Conrad had a horrible sleep; he had sand in his eyes, he had lines and wrinkles on his skin from tossing and turning and sleeping on the blankets, and he even felt his eyes giving into some more sleep again. He glanced at the clock. The device picked up his gaze and turned off its sleep-wake mode. The silver slab projected a holograph of the current time in digital format. _10:38am_, the time blinked. He groaned as he used his fingernails to get the sand out of the corners of his eyes before shoving the blankets off and getting on with his morning routine.

He took the dark blue silk robe and shrugged it on, tying the straps around his waist after brushing his teeth and washing his face to get him to wake up. He wished today could've been like any other day where he'd wake up in the morning, get ready for the day, and head to the library to work on his school work. But today wasn't like any other day. He realized he was still in the train and elicited another exhausted groan from his throat before walking out of the room.

He found Jocelyn and Chaz dining some scrambled eggs, grilled strips of bacon with a side dish of freshly baked bread from the Capitol's finest bakeries. Jocelyn ate like she hadn't eaten in days. She was probably eating to gain her strength in preparation for the Games and to Conrad, that didn't sound like a bad idea. He took a seat across Jocelyn as the waiter filled his plate with food.

"Had a good sleep, I see," Chaz teased as he sliced the loaf of bread with his butter knife.

"Oh yeah, it was very pleasant thanks to the blankets that wrapped me up into a cuccoon."

Jocelyn snickered, but realized what she did. She suddenly took interest in carving her name into the slice of bread on her porcelain plate. Conrad felt the brims of his lips form into a small smile before he finally dug in and ate a good morning breakfast. He figured that Chaz probably ordered such a meal; Conrad would've gone back to his room if he found the table filled with fancy food he had never seen or heard of. He'd rather know what he was eating.

After breakfast, Chaz had another one of his little episodes. He said that it's been happening ever since he's been off morphling. So he retired back to his room to get some rest for the rest of the day. Conrad felt pity and guilt wash over him; he knew that he was trying to change for the better. But then the thought of a victor with a morphling addict going around collecting donations from sponsors came into his mind. Chastace was probably never taken seriously in the Capitol; heck, he doesn't even think any of District Six victors ever get attention from its citizens.

Conrad and Jocelyn sat in the lounging area of the parlor room where the light beamed against his back as he fidgeted with his fingers, the awkward tension circling in the air.

"So…" Conrad attempted at a conversation, "you climbs ropes, huh."

Jocelyn gazed at him for a moment before a chuckle escaped her lips. She shook her head. "You remember that, really?"

"Well, I should know who I'm up against, shouldn't I?"

"You're pretty cautious," she complimented.

Conrad just shrugged as his gaze faltered, suddenly taking interest in his fidgeting fingers. Another moment of silence filled the room before she began to speak again.

"Are you scared too?"

He looked at her like she asked him how he wanted to die. "You bet I'm scared. I didn't even know I was the top ballot."

"Same here! I don't even know how my name even got mentioned."

"Well, you look sportier than the other girls."

"That's because most of them haven't got much to eat in a day."

That was true. Most of the families in the district lived on the poorer suburbs. Conrad was pretty much lucky that his dad became a conductor and an engineer. The neighborhood he lived in was almost like the Victor's Village: cold, quiet, and almost uninhabited except for at least a dozen families.

"Preston Wheeler would've been a better candidate. He's good with a bow and he's practically a sharp shooter."

"Hmm, you're right. But he's kind of thin. It would be a disadvantage to him when he gets cornered and doesn't have that kind of strength to fight with."

"If you have the sight of an eagle, I don't think that would be a problem as long as he keeps hidden."

Jocelyn nodded. Before she could reply with an agreeing remark, Petunia barged into the room with that stupid vivacious grin that started to annoy Conrad. Even he could tell Jocelyn was annoyed.

"Come come, my tributes! We," she dramatically flaunted her arm towards the window, "have arrived."

The two climbed onto the seat bordering the window and gazed out with interest as the cloud covering dispersed from the window, showcasing a large city that expanded for miles across the Rocky Mountains. As their wanderlust became fulfilled just from looking at the condescending architectural buildings and mega structures, they continued to gaze in awe as they travelled through the tunnel until the train finally took a stop into the station where hundreds of spectators and citizens dressed in fluorescent clothing and overly exaggerated wigs waited outside on the platform.

"Our final stop," Petunia gracefully stated, "the Capitol."


End file.
